The sparrow is taking flight
by screaming internally
Summary: Mia's first trip to Genovia is . . . well, it happens. Fortunately, she's got at least one friend in her corner. (set between chapter's 10 and 11 of 'I pretend I am a Princess so I can Act Like One')
1. Chapter 1

**The sparrow is taking flight**

;;

So, it did take a few hours after takeoff to make Mia shut up about Michael, but whatever.

Getting off planes is honestly the hardest thing in whole wide world –your legs won't cooperate, your butt wants to stay planted exactly where it was for hours and hours, your brain is just like, 'okay, you didn't need me for eight hours and we weren't even sleeping, screw you for thinking I'm going to work **now**'.

Seriously. Mia stood up, and then immediately had to sit back down, her legs were so useless.

Still – if there was one perk to the princess nonsense, it was the fact that flying first class was never a question of 'this is happening'. She'd flown coach before, with her mother. It sucked. She didn't want to imagine what it'd be like to have to do it for longer than four hours. Ugh.

Mia peered out the tiny window in the plane.

Even in though it was December, just six days from Christmas, the sun was shining. Sure, there was snow on the tree tops and they were an hour away from sunset, but still. _Sunshine_. Grandmere wasn't even pulling on her thickest coat, the one she'd been wearing when they least New York.

Mia wondered if her outfit was warm enough – Sebastiano had picked out the blue dress, and told her to wear it with black stockings and tall boots, so she had, and Grandmere had made her pair it with a grey wool trench coat from Burberry, and they both knew more about Genovia's winters than she did.

There was another reason Mia was required to look so picturesque. And why she wasn't allowed to take her own belongings off the plane – the phalanx of photographers and camera crews on the tarmac, ready to capture the moment the royal family returned to Genovia for Christmas.

The door to the plane opened, letting in a gust of cold air.

Okay, yeah. Mia was dressed warm enough.

Her dad turned to her, a comforting look on his face. "Ready?"

Mia wrinkled her nose. "More like ready or not."

Grandmere hadn't given Mia a lecture on what the protocol was for exiting a plane as a princess, but she gripped Mia's hand, declaring that Philipe would go first, and Mia and she would make a show of exiting the plane together, holding hands. Okay.

Okay, she could do this.

Mia watched her dad step out into the glare.

;;

It felt weird, knowing that people were taking her picture. They weren't too far away, maybe fifteen yards or so, held back behind a velvet rope. Mia followed her dad down the steps from the plane, onto the empty tarmac.

Yeah, that was the other weird thing. Before now, whenever Mia came to visit for the summer, she was just put on the plane with everyone else, and she exited it with everyone else at the general airport – sure, she was escorted off before everyone else once in Genovia, and there was always a car waiting to take her to Grandmere's chateau, but this was a different beast. There was a _rolled-out carpet_ for them to walk on. Sure, it wasn't red, but still.

"You're not going to speak to any of them, Amelia," Grandmere hissed quietly. Her hand was a vice in Mia's. "They're here for your father's statement, not yours. Simply wave when I do, and then get in the car."

Okay. Mia could follow those orders. Normally she'd resent Grandmere being so authoritative, but she was so nervous her free hand was shaking a little. Probably the reason why Grandmere was holding her so tightly – to try and get Mia to stay cool. It wasn't working, but whatever.

At least these reporters were being more orderly than the ones she'd had to first deal with in New York – the ones that had clogged up her school grounds and pushed together into a mob to try and hear Mia answer a question. These ones were the formal press corps of Genovia – the ones called whenever her dad had a press conference to give, or something. They knew the rules.

Still, Mia took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. All her excitement from that morning had left her behind. God, Michael, be a memory to get Mia through this!

Grandmere smiled at the photographers and their snapping cameras, slowly raising her arm. Mia did the same – Grandmere had actually once sat Mia down to explain the best way to wave at cameras – a fast blur of a hand was the farthest thing from photogenic, after all. Certainly not befitting Mia's station.

This memory in mind, Mia followed Grandmere's lead, ignoring the questions shouted their way. Honestly, through the whistling wind and sounds of the jet, plus the questions being shouted in very quick French, Mia couldn't make out what they were asking anyway.

Her dad approached the velvet rope, drawing all the eyes to him.

Grandmere stopped letting their pace be leisurely, instead gripping Mia's hand somehow _even tighter_, and got them into a quick-step to the car, still making sure to smile for the cameras.

The limousine was dark inside, and certainly not empty. There was a man in there, in a grey wool suit with a purple waistcoat and tie. He was maybe forty-ish, with a neat beard and crows-feet at his brown eyes. He kissed Grandmere's hand when she greeted him.

"Viggo," Grandmere said. "Allow me to present Her Royal Highness Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Renaldo." She left out the Thermopalis. She always did. Mia smiled at the man, trying not to let her confusion be utterly obvious on her face.

Viggo smiled gently at her, holding out his hand for hers. When Mia gave him her hand, he kissed her knuckles. "Princess, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

His tone was that of a fond stranger.

"Amelia, this is Viggo, the palace's expert in royal protocol. Should you have any confusions about what you should do during your trip, Viggo will be the man you ask. He will be joining you during your tours of Genovia when your father and I cannot."

"Oh." That was all Mia could really get out, so she just smiled at Viggo. He smiled back, warmly, like he knew she was totally out of her element, and he didn't mind. He probably would when Mia asked him a thousand questions a day, but they weren't there yet.

;;

Asana rolled her head back towards the ceiling, her expertly-done eyelids fluttering closed. "Is anyone else annoyed about the princess? I mean, we'll meet her like, once, she'll forget our names immediately because she's meeting a billion people in two and a half days, and then every event forever more we'll have to make polite awkward small talk until she goes back to America to ignore Genovia's existence until the next time the Dowager Princess makes her come back."

Lionel and Andrew didn't look away from their video game on the TV, but Nick flicked Asana a look from his book – something about detecting economic crimes - before returning to the page. Elyssa smiled in a sympathetic manner, but said nothing. Asana took this as a group permission to continue.

"Guys, seriously? Do any of us care about this girl?"

That got Andrew to talk. "It's not about caring, Asana. It's about having a connection with her. You know politics, yeah?"

Asana rolled her eyes. Everyone in the room knew her plan in life was to have literally nothing to do with politics, despite her Minister-father's hopes for his eldest.

"Then this should all be obvious to you. Your **Dad **needs to keep appearances up, and you're dragged along for the ride. You know this." Andrew's usual crisp accent was tinged with annoyance.

"I'm still allowed to be irritated about this whole _procession_, okay? It feels like we're expected to just wait around our entire winter break for _Her Highness_ to deign us with her presence."

Lionel paused the game, forcing Andrew to turn and face Asana as well. "She's the _heir apparent_, Asana," Lionel said. "She's literally going to run the damn country one day. I get that we're all off-kilter about the fact that Philipe's both had a kid this whole time and never mentioned it _and _we've never met her, and that that kid is both American _and_ gonna rule Genovia one day, but I think we're just gonna have to get used to that. It's not like we have a choice."

"Well. One of us has met her." Elyssa said, totally throwing Nick under the bus, _deliberately_, he could add. Everyone else in the room swivelled their heads to where Nick was sitting, innocently reading his book. Nick sighed.

"Yeah, I've met her. This isn't news."

"But now she's the _princess_."

"Yeah, Elyssa, I know that." God, how do you address this? Mia should be meeting these guys first, honestly. She'd do her own personality more justice than Nick ever could. "She's nice."

"That's all you've got?" Asana retorted. "She's _nice_? You've spent almost every summer hanging out with her, she's gotta have more of a personality than just _nice_."

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you guys want me to say?" he could feel everyone's stares drilling into his brain. How do you develop a headache this quickly? "She's nice, she's shy, she's been alternating between freaking out over this princess thing and being really, really irritated by it."

"Wait," said Andrew. "She's _been_ freaking out about it? Present tense?"

"We've been emailing each other for years, Andy. I told her that Philipe was Crown Prince last year – this was before the cancer – and she messaged me the same day she found out about her dad's chemo's side effects."

"The infertility thing."

Which is. One way to talk about the Crown Prince's cut-off testicle and resultant chemotherapy-caused infertility.

"Yeah. Her mum told her about that, she put two and two together, and got really annoyed about the whole thing, more than anything else."

Elyssa wrinkled her delicate eyebrows. That was Elyssa – blonde, pixie-like, delicate in everything. "Then why did you describe it as a 'freak-out'?"

"Mia a walking textbook description of anxiety. She hides it behind a wall of shyness, which you'll all see, but once you get to know her, it's all 3AM insomnia-induced anxiety emails and capslock messaging."

Lionel widened his eyes, smiling a little. "Whoa."

"Yeah." God, Nick loved Mia, he really did, but he could do without logging into his email and finding three emails about Mia's latest mental breakdown. He didn't hate it, but _fuck_ if it didn't make him worry. The fact that Mia didn't always address them whenever they chatted next really didn't help.

"How did you meet her?" Andrew asked. Fair enough – Nick hadn't really made an announcement that he'd been hanging out with Prince Philipe's bastard daughter to the rest of the social set until the announcement.

"You know how Princess Clarisse's chateau in France is, y'know, a ten-minute ride to over the border from my house?" 'House' was probably the humblest term for his home. 'Mansion' was closer. 'Decent-sized modernised castle' was probably the best description Nick'd ever heard. Everyone nodded.

"Mia's spent every summer of her life there, more or less. Uncle found out who she was – I have no idea how, so don't ask," Clarisse had told, probably. Or one of the servants. "And Uncle started sending me there over summer break to, quote, endear myself to Philipe's mother, unquote. Which I guess once you translate that to English, means 'make friends with the Prince's daughter because he loves her and that could be a useful alliance one day'."

Nick cast a look at the others. None of them were friends, specifically, but there was a kinship between them. You really couldn't help but try to get along with people when you're getting dragged to boring-as-hell functions by your politician relatives, and there's only a handful of people there actually close to your age. Andrew Jacoby was the eldest, being a year into University at Cambridge; Elyssa Puck the youngest, in ninth grade. She was only two months older than Mia was, actually.

Nick and Lionel Motaz were only a month apart in age, but despite both of them having dark hair, that was about as much as they had in common. Asana Pearman was probably the person Nick got along with the least, but that was mostly due to clashes in personality – on the rare occasion that the two of them found middle ground, Nick found he liked her quite a bit.

But right now, she was shit-talking Mia before she even met her.

And Mia, more than anyone else in the room, was Nick's friend. He didn't have many of those. "So yeah. Sorry your families aren't desperate social climbers like mine."

That made everyone wince – they all knew what Nick's Uncle Devereaux Mabrey was like. Being the only family in the room who hadn't managed to marry/breed into the Royal House of Renaldo beyond a few Grimaldi and Migonette cousins was a sticking point for John Devereax Mabrey. _Why_, Nick had no idea, given that his maternal something-generations back grandmother was sister to a Tsar of Russia, and his paternal something-generations back grandfather was the second husband of a princess of Italy.

Nick didn't know.

Elyssa, ever the optimist, piped up, "Well I, for one, am looking forward to meeting her. It'll be nice to have someone new at all these balls and dinners who's also my age. And if Nick says she's a friend, then that's nothing but a good thing. Asana, you're just looking for negatives in the situation. Maybe here's a positive – you both probably watch those soapy drama teen-shows that America's always making. I'm sure you'll find at least one thing you guys can talk about."

Probably right. Mia was always signing off to watch some TV show or other.

"And we meet her tomorrow, before her royal duties begin in proper, so if nothing else we get to eat lunch with her or whatever the plan is."

;;

Waking up in a bed in a palace is completely different from waking up in her own bed. For one, the mattress is maybe twice the size of her own – sure, Mia's got a double-size mattress, but this one is, like, a jumbo-queen size. For another, she's never been awoken by a maid before.

Actually – that's not true. She has been, a couple times at Grandmere's, but that wasn't the norm. Mia just set an alarm.

But she was so tired from the flight and her late night before she left, and she's never been able to sleep on airplanes, so she managed to stay awake long enough to get back to the palace, have some dinner and unpack a little bit before passing out in the bed by nine o'clock.

"Princess." The voice was gentle, like whoever it was was trying to be unobtrusive. "Princess." A gentle hand was on her shoulder.

Mia opened her eyes. God, she was still tired. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry to wake you, Princess." Now that Mia was actually looking, she could see that the voice belonged to one of the maids in the palace she'd met the night before. What was her name? Brigitte? Brigitta? There were two of them named something like that. This was the brunette one. "It's almost eight-thirty, Princess. The Crown Prince wanted you out of bed before nine, for your brunch with the children of Genovia's Ministers who are staying in the Palace until the Christmas celebrations."

Oh, right. That. Mia sat up, trying to be at least a little dignified about it. She didn't really succeed, but Brigitt(e/a?) smiled at Mia once she was sitting up. Was she supposed to speak French or English? She couldn't remember. She settled for English. "Okay."

It took her time, but she got into the ensuite bathroom of her rooms – room_s_, plural, because apparently being princess means she got a sitting room, a whole wardrobe of pre-supplied Sebastiano clothes, and a bathroom, all to herself.

The shower was luxurious, honestly. A giant showerhead probably bigger than the width of Mia's own skull, gorgeous pressure, the beam controlled by a stop-start button, and she only had to control the temperature.

Thankfully, she'd shaved her legs Friday, and they were still pretty smooth. She had to wash her hair, though, and with unfamiliar shampoo that felt a million times silkier and more expensive than her own stuff at home.

Brigitt(e/a?) was waiting in the walk-in wardrobe for her, with a number of outfit options. Apparently, Grandmere had given her a bunch of orders about what Mia should look like on her first day of being a princess, properly. Mia was willing to defer to Grandmere's choices, just this once, and given that Sebastiano had been nice enough to also supply dresses that Mia actually wouldn't mind being caught dead in, Mia managed not to look like a fifty-some-years younger version of her grandmother – she decided on a knee-length blue wool skirt and a long-sleeved cotton shirt that had blue flowers embroidered on the sleeves, paired with the stockings like the ones from the day before, and boots again, good for standing and walking in for long periods of time.

Overall, she didn't think she looked too bad. Not overly formal, but what was she doing today? Brunch, meet and greet with the palace staff, palace tour. She had to change for a formal dinner, but she could fix her legs and hair before then.

She looked like a fourteen-year old right now. Wasn't that important too? Her looking her age, so that people's expectations weren't ridiculously high?

Whatever. Mia liked how she looked – crisp, clean, professional enough.

She put on a little makeup – lipgloss, concealer, mascara. Anything more and Grandmere would probably hate it.

Mia let Brigitte lead her to her where her dad was having breakfast – she'd finally admitted she couldn't remember if Brigitte was Brigitta, and she'd been informed that brunette = Brigitte, and blonde = Brigitta. Good phonetic for her memory, Mia supposed. She wasn't supposed to sup too much with her dad – her main meal was going to be in about an hour, so she couldn't gorge herself.

She approached her dad, asking "So, is _this_ appropriate for my first day?" and did a twirl for her dad's eye.

"Very appropriate. And pretty." Her dad went back to his papers.

"Thanks." Mia sat, practising the poise Grandmere had drilled into her. She sat like that at school a lot too, and at home, unless she was tired, but Mia figured the more she did it in Genovia, the less likely she was to screw it up. She took a croissant from a plate on the table, and thanked the waiter who gave her a cup of tea. Her dad smiled at her out of the corner of his mouth.

Clearly he didn't mind how she was doing so far.

"Where's Grandmere?" Mia asked.

"Still sleeping. She won't be joining any of us until after lunch."

Mia cocked an eyebrow. "So she's allowed to laze, but I don't?"

"She's the Dowager Princess, Mia. Technically speaking, when you're in residence at the Palace, all of Mother's responsibilities are yours." Philipe drank some tea. He took his black tea without sugar or milk. He was a masochist like that.

"Seriously?" Mia was too tired to whine about the unfairness of _that_, but that didn't mean she wanted to dad to go through his day unaware that Mia thought _that_ was total bullshit.

Going from his expression – a bit of a smile, with a sympathetic look in his eyes – he got her message. Good.

"So who are these people I'm eating lunch with?" She learned about this plan yesterday, and she'd been given exactly no information past that. It seemed to be a reoccurring thing for this trip.

"Well, you know Nicholas," Her dad began, finally looking Mia in her face, "and the others are the children of the ministers we'll be having dinner with tonight. They're staying in the palace at our invitation, to accompany you as you do your rounds of Genovia, at least before Christmas. And you're having _brunch_ with them, honey."

"Dad, if you're basically skipping breakfast for a few hours and then eating lunch food at eleven, it's **lunch**," Mia argued.

Her dad rolled his eyes. He'd heard this one before. "Their names are Andrew Jacoby, Asana Pearman, Lionel Motaz, and Elyssa Puck. The rest are older than you by five or more years; or not in high school yet. Andrew's in university, Lionel and Nicholas are in the same year level at St François', Asana and Elyssa attend St Amelie's. Elyssa's your age."

"And they've all been yanked out of their own homes to keep a total stranger company for a week. I'm sure they're thrilled."

Philipe didn't dignify that with an answer, instead continuing to eat his breakfast. Mia did the same thing, feeling only marginally less like there was a rock in her stomach.

Nick will be there. Nick will be there. Michael couldn't be there, so Nick would have to be her life raft for her awkward. Nick was probably better as her life raft than Michael would be, actually. This was a battlefield he knew better than Mia did.

Nick wouldn't let her make an ass out of herself. When they were alone and messing around baking or dancing or whatever, sure. But not in public. Not for this.

Mia drank some more tea, trying to remind herself to calm down.

Like, she knew that there was a decent chance she'd have to spend a bunch of time with other teenagers, but she hadn't really expected to have to do it on _her first day_, okay? Seeing it written on an itinerary is a different beast from knowing it's happening an hour from now.

Which is also Mia's whole mindset since yesterday, honestly. She'd been so giddy about Michael and everything from the Winter Dance, that her reality hadn't settled into her brain yet. It's one of those things, isn't it? You're so focused on the lead-up to something that once you _get_ to the thing, your ability to comprehend what's happening fails you.

Of course, Mia was so busy stewing in these thoughts, staring at her cup of tea for the answers, that she completely missed Nick walking into the room!  
"Oh my _god_!" she yelped, leaping at him. Nick caught her, obviously, and staggered a little at the force of her.

"Well," Nick said, a little winded. Philipe snorted a little with laughter at the display. "I missed you too?"

Mia pulled back. "Sorry – sorry. I'm a little tense."

Nick gave a wry nod, a smile on his face. "I figured."

Mia felt flustered – her first day, and she's already acting like a needy child! She pulled away from Nick and sat back down, Nick circling the table to the seat across from her.

"So how've you been?" Nick asked, reaching for some of the food on the table. Philipe's wait staff had apparently forseen her dad having company for breakfast, given that the table had been set for at least four people, with enough food to feed twice that.

How's Mia been? "Uh, well. Before this morning, I've been pretty good – actually, no, I've been great – you know the thing with Michael?" Mia could feel herself winding up a head of steam to talk with.

Nick nodded, spreading marmalade on some toast. "The unrequited feelings thing."

"They're a lot more requited." Mia wanted to gush, like, SO MUCH, but playing with their words were how she and Nick talked at each other in person.

And she got Nick's attention, his eyes wide. "Yeah?"

"Yeah!" he clearly got her meaning.

Although her dad was apparently tired of both of them, even after less than five minutes – which was honestly a pretty natural state for her dad around Mia and Nick. "And by that, she means that the older boy she's been saying she's in love with for months has told her he loves her back." Philipe crinkled the papers in his hands, a weird tone of voice to his words. He sounded – not _mad_, but like there was an emotion there he didn't want to share.

Nick raised his eyebrows, "Really?"

Mia grinned. She wasn't going to let her dad get in the way of her good news. "Yeah, Michael loves me! Back, I mean! He told me at the Winter Dance, and we spent the whole night-"

Her dad cut her off, saying, "They spent the night happily dancing with their friends, celebrating their school break and holding hands." Philipe turned and stared at his daughter, his expression in a firm 'Do Not Say Anything Contradictory, Amelia. I Do Not Want To Hear It'. "_**Right**_?"

Mia grinned at her dad and Nick, who was smiling like he was holding in laughter. "_Totally_, Dad."

She and Nick scarfed down a bit more food, before booking it out of the dining room to go do something else before their bigger breakfast. Lunch? Bigger lunch? Whatever.

;;

Eventually, Mia and Nick ditched her Dad to his paperwork, and Nick led her down a couple hallways into a sitting room – how many of these does a palace need? – and the moment they got out of sight of anyone in the hallway, Mia yanked Nick into a hug.

He laughed, "Oh, so you _really_ missed me," a hugged her back.

"Well _yeah_," Mia's voice was muffled in his shoulder, "although I've also been quaking in my boots since I woke up this morning and hugging my Dad in front of his staff probably isn't a good look."

She wasn't sure, but Nick might've kissed her hair. "I'm sure they'd forgive for not being a stoic princess yet. If anything, it'd probably be pretty endearing. Your Dad would probably come off as a human again."

Mia snorted. "I'm not sure about any of this, Nick. I don't think I can do this." In flagrant disregard for etiquette, Mia flopped onto one of gold-gilded chaise-lounge chairs. Nick sat in the one across from her, with far more grace than Mia had displayed.

"I think you'll be fine." A simple statement, full of truth.

"My expectation in life was to be invisible, Nick. And I was good at it."

What do you say to that? Nick wasn't sure.

;;

So, this story is set between chapter's 10 and 11 of 'I pretend I am a Princess so I can Act Like One'.

Hilariously, I thought I'd be able to get this whole fic done before Christmas. What a fool I am.

But yeah. My work's kicked up my hours - I'm working every day until Christmas and Boxing Day, and then every day after that until after the New Year. And I've got family staying. And I'm trying to organise moving to a new place because I'm going back to university in February.

The point is my writing will be happening significantly less for maybe a month. And probably after that, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

However, Mia had always been very good at masking her fears with a light humour that only sometimes gave away her game.

Nick had mentioned their lunch companions a couple times in passing – he liked Andrew, tolerated Asana and Lionel, and whenever Elyssa was actually present instead of being hidden away by her parents, Nick liked her too.

Elyssa was only a little older than Mia was, and apparently that had convinced her Dad and Nick that the two of them would be friends. Uh, yeah_, sure_. **Lana Weinberger** is only two months older than Mia, and they've _never _gotten along. Mia was four months older than Frank's niece Claire, and Claire had taken one look at Mia and had to force herself not to laugh.

Mia doesn't have a great track record with getting along with girls whose best descriptive is that 'Oh, you're the same age!' like that means ANYTHING.

The logic Mia's running off of right now is this: if she can get through this lunch without making a complete ASS out of herself, she can get through this whole trip. Yes, that's some REACHING logic, but it's the best she's got, and she's gonna run with it. Good god.

Still, if she keeps her mouth shut, she should be able to hide her complete ignorance – just ask polite question, laugh at jokes, try to remember people's names, etc. Fake it till you make it.

She can fake this. If she can fake paying attention to Lilly's constant crusades over whatever, she can fake being decent at being a princess.

;;

Andrew wasn't really sure what he was expecting, meeting the princess. For some reason, he was thinking she'd look like her Grandmother? The old pictures of Clarisse when she was young. Something like that. Tiny, dark-haired, dark eyes, imperial air.

Instead, she's only a little shorter than Nick, blonde with gray eyes, pale skin, and a trying-not-to-be-nervous expression.

Call Andy soft hearted, but he wants to like her already. He's always had a soft spot for nervous people, making them feel better. Call it the Eldest Sibling reaction.

It's a brief blur of awkward hellos, shaking hands – Elyssa insists on a hug, cause she's a sweetie like that – and then the six of them all just about swung themselves into the chairs around the lunch table, and dig themselves into the excellent food. Andy's gonna say this: the palace definitely employs the best chefs in Genovia, and probably Italy and France, too.

Although there does seem to be more vegetarian dishes than normal, which confused Andy for a second until he noticed that Princess Mia only grabbed food from those dishes. Someone must've notified the kitchen that she has preferences, maybe. Nick cast his mind back to the editorial about her, when the ripples of Prince Phillipe's announcement first touched London. Andy'd been there for a weekend, and his aunt Edith had burst into the room, twittering like a married aunt in an Austen novel, about the 'scandal', and 'upheaval'. Andy hadn't felt that interested – he wasn't aware that he'd have to meet her, yet.

He did read the thing though. Didn't it say she was a vegetarian? He can't remember, but he's gonna bet that's it – she's definitely skinny enough to be someone who doesn't consume American meat products, which Nick is familiar with because he once ate a steak at one of those upscale restaurants in Los Angeles on a holiday with his parents, and he put on a couple pounds over that two week trip just by eating the portions the restaurants gave him.

Whatever, it's all irrelevant. Princess Mia seemed perfectly charming, if maybe a little shy. Nick had been pretty accurate about what meeting her would be like.

;;

Asana was totally ready to dismiss the hell out of this girl. No, she's not a total bitch, okay – she's just very picky and particular about the people she lets into her life, who she invests energy in. It doesn't make her a _bitch_. But yeah, being dragged away from her own damn home where she was perfectly happy _staying_ for the blessed few weeks between school terms to come to the palace and meet the dirty-little-secret princess – she's got her reasons to be annoyed!

Not about staying-at-the-palace thing, no way. The Genovian palace is totally gorgeous. If Asana were to be put in charge of renovations of her own family home, she'd definitely be taking some inspiration from the palace.

Maybe she could meet up with their interior decorator while she's here . . .

What was she thinking? Oh, right. New Princess.

Yeah, Asana was ready to toss out any kind of familiarity with the girl, except for whatever was demanded of her for the rest of her father's life in politics that Asana got dragged to, but no. This girl seems . . . . pretty-to-decently cool. _Scared_, but you get a sense that beneath that is someone you could hang out with. Which is good, because Asana's really tired of having four people near her age, total, to talk to at balls and garden galas.

Well, now she'll have _five_, but whatever.

This girl – Mia, Mia, her name's Mia, if Asana gets it wrong Nick'll never, ever let it go – takes a minute to open up, but by the end of their brunch, Asana could see why Nick's got a bit of a thing for her that goes beyond friendship, no matter what he claims for 'sibling-y feelings ONLY'.

Yeah, _okay_ Nick. That's totally why you look at her like she's a whole library filled with first editions. Definitely the same way Andy looks at _his_ siblings. Pff.

;;

Viggo watched the Princess – she was doing so well! Her Highness the Dowager certainly hadn't told him of the Princess' grace during their telephone conversations! She kept her mouth closed, but smiling, politely letting the staff introduce themselves as the Butler (Pierre, a family-linage servant of the Palace, descended from five generations of Palace staff) introduced her to the maids, the cooks, the groundskeepers, etcetera. And the young Princess was without flaw! Simply a lovely young lady – only interjecting when she felt she'd made a misstep, and asking for a clarification. Oh, Her Highness had claimed her granddaughter to be "corrupted into a vulgar American, Viggo, her mother has utterly ruined whatever natural graces Amelia may have ever had. I spend so much of my time simply trying to enunciated _deportment_, and my granddaughter is deaf to any entreaties!"

Viggo had known for a long time that Her Highness had a habit of highlighting the negatives, but he could help, watching the young Princess during their afternoon, that perhaps Her Highness . . . had a blind spot for her granddaughter, so busy trying to bring out ladylike qualities that she sometimes only noticed the rough stone she was carving them out of, without noting the parts of the sculpture that were already begging to gloss and shine with definition.

Or perhaps – more likely for Her Highness – enunciating the negatives got her the results from her granddaughter more efficiently. Viggo didn't know much about their relationship just yet; but over the next few weeks, surely he would be able to observe it all. It was, after all, his job.

They had a schedule to keep, however, and the palace is a large place, and Viggo has plenty he wishes to show to the Princess, and tell her about the history of the illustrious home of her family, and only two hours to do it in. Maybe if he can get the staff to speed up a little . . .

Viggo checked his phone – Helga and Gretchen had already arrived within Genovia's borders from Italy, bringing with them plenty appropriate clothes for the Princess, and Helga had been booked as the Princess' stylist for the winter.

The introduction of Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopalis Renaldo to the people of Genovia could not afford to be anything besides flawless.

Which was why if they could get a move on with the schedule, Viggo will feel MUCH better.

;;

I'd originally planned for this to be the brunch with Mia and the other kids around her age, but then my brain was like LOL NO. After this, I should be able to thump a bit more out of this story.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Snow had fallen in light sheets over the Genovian capital. Even though it was already Christmas Eve, the snow had melted before midday – only to begin falling again a few hours before six in the evening; or at least it would.

Mia sat with her mug of tea, watching the snow slowly melt into puddles on the grounds outside. Her big speech was in T-minus nine hours, and she honestly wasn't sure if she actually felt ready, or if she was going to be sick.

So far, she'd been doing pretty well – no major screw-ups, no embarrassing clumsiness (or at least, not where cameras could see it), she'd been perpetually polite and friendly, if not entirely without some shyness, and she even felt she could count Nick's peers in the Genovian peerage as actual friends – or at least, people she wouldn't hate calling friends one day.

Even though Mia was sedentary right now, there was nothing else inside the palace that was – that outside-the-window-scape? Not an empty view. There were footmen and maids and the butler and PR people and bodyguards and her father's whole crew of assistants, all running around for the biggest PR event of every year for the royal family.

And Mia had a not-100%-chance of screwing the whole thing up.

Look. She's got a speech. It's pretty. It's sweet. Grandmere's drilled it into her head how to say it with just the right amount of honesty and sweetness without coming off cloying; and it's going to be on a script directly in front of her. It's less than five minutes – they know, they've timed her.

No one's expecting her to be flawless – except Grandmere, of course – and if anything, apparently, her stumbling a little will make her seem more like an actual teenager and less like a trained doll.

That's the description she's been given in the less-charitable press, by the way. Her "shyness comes off rather genuine, it's true, but there's no denying that Princess Amelia's affectations towards her duties make her seem more like a breathing, life-size porcelain doll than an actual teenager". Thanks for that, _The Sun_. Real nice things you lot have to say about a _fourteen year old_.

Whatever. Nick, Asana and Andrew had all given her the speech – Lionel and Elyssa hadn't been in the room at the time – about how she's doing fine, and stop worrying, and she is actually very likable and competent and blah blahblah.

Look, she's been doing this princess thing fine for the last four months, and yeah, when she was in New York, she wanted nothing more than to be able to just be done with it; but here in Genovia . . . it just feels like everything she's doing, she's doing it wrong. Which is why she's not going off-script. No sir, no thank you so much – it's the script she's been given, even though its literally just light-hearted fluff about how she intends to be a good, exemplary princess for the people of Genovia, looking forward to her future being their Crown Princess and therefore the main point of international contact and representative and also the person on whom blame will fall should something-anything go wrong during her reign, and-

Mia took a sip from her mug to try and calm down. Her hands shook a little.

She didn't want to have to be thinking about this – she'd been thinking about all of this non-freaking-stop for the entire time she'd been in Genovia; a screw-up here and there during a meeting with the Genovian Olive Grower Association is forgivable, a screw-up in front of the ENTIRE WORLD ON A TELEVISED BROADCAST is not.

You know what Mia wants right now?

To really, really be someone else. Anyone else. A normal girl. A normal girl, who gets to spend her first Christmas with a boyfriend _with_ that actual boyfriend – you know, cuddling in cozy sweaters as snow falls gently outside, drinking eggnog and kissing under mistletoe, sharing that good-luck midnight kiss on New Years.

What does Mia get instead? Old dudes. Old government dudes and press releases and photographers and a tiara.

She'd so rather have a Christmas tree.

She'd even settle for it being a real one, instead of an environmentally not-part-of-the-destruction-of-the-ozone-layer plastic one.

Still, silver linings – this is the one-most-important day, and then if she screws it all up, well, two weeks from now she'll be back home in New York, where she can safely stick her head under her bedcovers and sleep in. For like, one day, before she has to go back to school.

That silver lining is the width of a spider-thread.

;;

Mia breathed – in, out, in, out, in through the nose, out through the mouth, slow and steady. And not obvious, Amelia, for gods sake, you're being filmed!

Thanks Grandmere. Mia was totally about to forget that fact.

But still. She's standing here, in the dress that Sebastiano had designed – white with a blue sash, for the colours of Genovia, a square-cut neckline (Sebastiano had been given full creative control once it had become clear that Mia really, really didn't care) and full-length sleeves and a big poofy skirt like Cinderella's, all simple-but-opulent, and made of silk so Mia could be terrified of moving around in it anywhere near any kind of food or drink.

So she's also mildly dehydrated, because apparently water stains silk something fierce. Ugh.

And she's been standing for a solid fifteen minutes, as her Dad was presented by Prime Minister Motaz, and he's giving his whole speech and then he's going to present Mia, and then Mia's going to give her speech, and then blessedly, blessedly, they'll be done.

No, Mia isn't counting the minutes.

She's trying really hard not to fidget, with her hands clasped together in front of her, and she isn't touching her hair, where she's got her tiara in for the first time – the thing's actually digging in in a way that's actually kinda itchy and uncomfortable – and thank god, everyone decided not to put Mia in heels for this event, because otherwise her feet would actually want to rip themselves off her body.

Okay, okay. She's okay.

Oh, shit, her Dad's – "It is my pleasure to present to you all my most loved daughter, and your new princess, Her Royal Highness Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopalis Renaldo, who will speak shortly with you all now."

_Shit_. Mia took a deep breath, before plastering on a smile for the cameras as her dad waved her forward, the photographers and camera-people all hushed – and Mia could hear the applause of the people outside who were watching everything on the giant screens that had been hung in all the city squares and parks in Genovia (the big speeches occurred indoors, so that there was never a risk of a fleck of snow landing on someone's face as they gave their speech, before everyone moved to the main overlooking balcony to wave to the populace) – and Mia waved to the cameras as she walked to her dad.

He took a second to whisper in her ear as she moved, "Honey, breathe. You'll be fine."

Mia didn't get to say anything back. Instead, she looked out at the crowd of reporters and representatives, and the bright lights that had been set up so that all the cameras would catch zero shadowing.

Mia looked at the prompters in front of her – the high-tech ones that were directly in front of the podium and were clear from the back, so that Mia could read it without any of the cameras being obstructed. She looked at the camera directly in front, and she opened her mouth.

;;

"Well, that was perfectly adequate," Grandmere said – either it was to Mia, or to the glass of Sidecar in her hand, Mia couldn't say. "At least you stuck to the script and didn't go off on some rant about, I don't know, that Christmas Tree thing you made me suffer through for half a dinner back in America."

Which – was something that really should have strung – why should it, it was an important issue, and Mia IS right, Christmas trees are necessary for the environment, cutting them down every year just so that they can slowly die in someone's living room is a completely unjust waste and damaging to the environment, and definitely something that can be curtailed by people investing in plastic Christmas trees that can be recycled after ten years of use, therefore NOT contributing to the destruction of the polar bear's natural habitat and destruction of the Ozone Layer, and Mia opened her mouth to say all of this to Grandmere –

And was promptly tackled from behind by Elyssa, who wrapped her up in a bony hug. "Mia, that was so good! You're an awesome princess!"

Which, if nothing else, was nice to hear. Sure, Elyssa was a total optimist (she and Tina would be joined at the hip if they ever met, Mia could tell), but someone telling her she did well was a balm to Grandmere's words. Mia spun in Elyssa's arms to return the hug, telling her friend "Thank you!" with as much excitement she could muster right now – speech-giving takes it out of you, honestly.

Mia heard Grandmere snort into her Sidecar behind her, muttering something about the ruination of Mia's dress with wrinkles, but guess what? Mia can't even care right now, because Andrew and Asana and Lionel and Nick all swooped in for a group hug, kind of. They were achieving a bit more decorum than Mia and her girlfriends usually had when they group-hugged, but that was just because there was a bunch of stuffy politicians all in the room judging them.

But then it all had to be put off to one side, so that Mia could go change – there was still the annual Christmas Eve Ball to attend, even though it was already ten at night, and her formal speech-dress that Sebastiano had designed was beautiful, it wasn't very conductive for an evening of dancing.

Instead, her third-cousin - or whatever distance-relation Sebastiano was – had made for her another white dress, this one with gauzy sleeves and embroidered orange flowers on the bodice, and matching flowers printed on the multi-layered tulle skirt that flew all the way out when Mia twirled. It really was a super princess dress, and the first time Mia felt like she was actually maturing in her role, when she wore it.

Of course, along with the dress-change, she also got to swap her diamond-bedazzeled tiara for a much smaller (and infinitely more comfortable) diadem with close-enough orange garnet gemstomes in it that Grandmere said was commissioned by her great-great-grandfather for his wife on their tenth wedding anniversary.

Mia wouldn't say she knew a ton about her family's interpersonal history, but apparently her great-great-grandma had taste similar to Mia's when it came to jewellery – comfort-first, please.

And after that forty-five minutes of fussing over Mia's dress, and then re-doing her hair, she finally got to go to the actual ball itself.

Now, Mia's never been to anything fancier than Grandmere's dinner parties (she left Mia behind whenever she went to a ball before Mia was a princess, back when Mia spent the summer's a Grandmere's France house), and no dance more dressy than the ones at AEHS.

But this is a whole **shindig**.

The chandeliers are all lit up, there's flowers everywhere, an orchestra, waiters all going around with trays of food and drinks, and she and her dad had to open the dancing by waltzing together.

Definitely not a thing that happens at AEHS school dances.

But still, after that first dance, it seemed to be the signal for everybody to unclench and try to actually have fun, because soon most everybody had a drink in their hands, and making jokes and the room was filled with laughter and fun swing-music songs from the orchestra and people were bopping along to the tunes on the dance floor.

Andrew tried to have Mia dance swing, which she's only about half-good at, so she kicked him in the shins a couple times, so Elyssa took over to show Andy that at least one of them could keep up with him; Asana pulled Nick and Lionel into a weird three-person dance while Mia was waltzing with Prime Minister Motaz, Lionel's uncle, who was genuinely a lovely man who clearly adored his wife, given that she only saw him dance with herself, Grandmere, and then nobody but his wife all night.

One day, maybe, that'd be her and Michael. His prom was going to be next semester – and she was his girlfriend, so yeah, that could would be them . . .

The one person that wasn't her dad that Mia danced to with real comfort and confidence, though, was Nick: so she danced with him every chance she got.

(It's times like this that make you realise why dancing was the main exercise back in the 1800's – doing the foxtrot is a _workout._)

But it was sometime around two in the morning that the party petered out – most of the people in the room were in their forties-to-seventies, after all. The old-uns need their sleep.

Come to think of it, so does Mia.

She felt weirdly keyed-up, despite her drooping eyes.

But it was during that last hour, between one and two, when the night truly came to its proper conclusion: you know, that time of the night when some part of you is just like _Okay, __**that**__ was the emotional high we came here for, specifically. Time to go to bed_. The one for the Non-Denominational Winter Dance was when she and Michael kissed, that first time. And this was this night's:

She stepped outside for some of that nice, blistering-cold air, no wind, but snow gently falling the way that only belonged to fairytales and Hollywood movies.

She'd snagged a glass of champagne from a waiter – yes, she's fourteen, yes she's not supposed to drink alcohol, she honestly isn't even really enjoying this except for the fizz, but it's also _Christmas_, and a few hours ago she had to stand in front of an entire country (and the world) and not make a complete ass of herself. Let her have it. Just the one.

So she's standing in the night, right, sipping her drink and shifting her feet in her dancing-heels to try and take her weight off the balls of her feet, and also not risk getting a snow-stain on her pretty princess dress; and then the door opens behind her.

And Mia turns around, right, because technically, she's not supposed to be out here, she's supposed to be inside being the belle of the ball, so her shoulder's are tense up around her ears –

But it's Nick. He winks at her as he shuts the door, before quietly asking, "Did you not want company?"

Mia shook her head 'no', so Nick came quietly up to her shoulder, and they looked out over the balcony onto the palace grounds, at the snow landing gently on the leaf-less bushes and catching on trees in the distance.

"Is it anything like this, in New York?" Nick asked quietly.

"No." Mia said. She matched her friend for volume – it felt like there was a spell over them, that they couldn't speak any louder than a whisper, lest their special moment be ruined by the real world, just inside the door. She didn't make a big shiver, but Nick clearly noticed the goosebumps on her skin, because he shrugged out of his suit-jacket, draping it gently over her shoulders. The jacket smelt a little like cinnamon, a little like that smell that was just Nicholas Devereaux alone.

"Looking forward to going home?" was Nick's next question. Mia was so distracted with his jacket she missed the question.

"What?" God, if Grandmere could hear her.

"Your trip is half over, Mia. You're halfway home." Nick pulled his eyes from the night-coloured horizon where his gaze had been kept since seeing her shiver, finally bringing his eyes to meet Mia's.

"I guess I haven't thought of it, really. It's mostly been Get Through Each Day until now."

"But everything eases up now, doesn't it? Your schedule."

"Yeah," Mia nodded. "I get something close to actual time off each day now. It's more like an hour of something chill, rather than rushing from event and meeting to event and meeting."

Nick made a noise that would've been a laugh, had it been louder. "I'll miss you, when you leave."

(There was something wry about his tone – like there was a joke underneath Mia didn't know, but would soon. Mia didn't notice it until much later, but it was there.)

Mia looped her arm through his, where he'd rested his forearms on the stone balcony, not even caring about the edging of snow and what it'd do to his silk shirt. His body thrummed with warm blood, helping her feel that little bit warmer. "I'll miss you too. But I'm coming back – Genovia every school break forever, now. And the rest of my life."

That got an actual laugh from her friend. "And the rest of mine." He didn't have a glass in his hands, but he knocked his fingernails against her champagne glass, making that little _ting!_ noise that a glass-toast normally would.

They didn't really say much of anything else, before they had to sneak back indoors, and everyone started going home.

Mia managed to give him a giant hug – she'd see him within the next week, at the New Year Ball, but she wanted to hug him before then. Nick pressed his lips to her cheek, near her ear. It wasn't quite a kiss, but his whisper of, "You look really beautiful", in her ear made something that felt like a kiss-aftershock go through her, and left something warm and soft in her chest for the rest of the night, following her into sleep.

;;

Christmas broke bright and early, and frankly, far too early. YES, it was nine in the morning, that is a perfectly reasonable time for a teenager to be woken up by the maid that didn't ask for any of this, but

CHRISTMAS, and

HOW LATE WAS SHE UP THE NIGHT BEFORE? Mia's fairly certain you can't say 'last night' if you feel asleep during what was very early morning.

Well, for the Too Long Didn't Read, Grandmere and her Dad were hungover, the gifts were lovely, and the whole day was honestly the nicest she'd had since arriving in Genovia – mostly because there was nothing really scheduled, as Christmas was apparently that one holiday in Genovia (along with Good Friday) were nothing had to happen At All.

The night before really was the Peak of Mia's trip, wasn't it?

Well, in that case, she wasn't going to pitch a fit. She was going to take an afternoon nap.

;;

FINALLY, FINALLY, THIS IS DONE

It's not quite to the standard of what I wanted it to be when I started (there was going to be more of Grandmere and her dad, and more of what I call the Genovia Crew (Nick, Asana, Andy, Lionel and Elyssa)) but I'm honestly sick of looking at this fic. I want to Move On with this narrative.

If anyone is wondering why that last scene with Nick and Mia is so romantic-coded, it's because one half is PINING their heart out, and the other is A) in a relationship, and B) kinda dense. And person A is actively Not About To Confess Any Time Soon.

This is a slow-burn thing, my friends.

Mia's dress at the Christmas Eve Ball is actually the wedding/last dress that Belle wears in the 2018 Beauty and the Beast, because I wanted to put Mia in something similar to her Big Dress at the end of the first movie, but also have it with sleeves and be appropriate for a 14 year old. Also, Beauty and the Beast is Mia's favourite broadway show, in the bookverse.

This story is the bridge between chapters 10 and 11 in 'I pretend I am a Princess so I can behave like one'. The eleventh chapter will be out . . . whenever I get up the motivation to either finish all my other WIPs, or I need to duck all of those in favour of writing chapter 11, or my schoolwork. We'll get there.


End file.
